Barbed Wire: Book 1 (Rewrite)
by Sabubu
Summary: The thing that cuts deepest may be that which dwells inside yourself. Like wire she ensnares them, like spikes she hurts them; all the while it makes her bleed. The Petty siblings, Peter and Isadora, have come to Bon Temps to get away from everything while there is a Vampire killing other Vampires across the map. (Post S03 Pre S04, AU)
1. Bump in the Night

He paced the long hallway, again and again, his cracked lips opening and closing rapidly as his eyes darted back and forth. His unwashed hair clung to his sweaty forehead, beads running down his face as he mumbled incoherently. With dirty fingers, he reached into his coat pocket and rummaged for something, bringing his pacing to an end. Suddenly, his glassy eyes widened and he swiveled, patting his chest frantically. The note…the note was gone! He hunched over as he wrestled with his coat, trying to throw the damn thing off for more in-depth searching. After almost falling forward, he finally managed to get it off and threw it on the ground where he hit his knees and inspected the pockets with his own eyes.

"No, no, no," he said, his voice rough as it came from a dry throat, "no, no, not tonight! Not tonight!" The stained carpet of the motel rubbed his knees raw as he left his coat and crawled towards his room, the door wide open and waiting for him. Shivering and whimpering pathetically, he reached for his room. As he was about to dive into the room, the door creaked and slammed shut, just inches from his fingers. He choked on one last whimper as he was cast into a shadow, a silhouette of someone standing over him. He cried out with fear and spun around, now on his butt with his back pressed against the cool, no longer welcoming, wood. He could not see the person through his dying vision, made blurry by tears.

"I-I-I'm sorry, boss!" he pleaded, "Don't kill me! Please!" The person did not speak or move, simply stood over him and watched him; a silent entity that made the man shit his pants. "I-I can get the information again! I promise! I just…I just don't know where the note went this time! I-I-I must have dropped it outside or something! I could go get it!" Again, the man spoke to a wall, further wrecking his nerves. He gulped and put his hands in front of himself, bracing for his untimely demise, but the shadow made no movement. "I-I might actually r-remember! M-my memory isn't that great, but I-I think I know where it was! Shr-shreve…Shreve something! That's it! Lou…Louisiana! Haha! I remember!" He let out more anxious chuckles and slowly put his hands down, grinning up at his "boss" as though he might get a pat on the head.

Instead, he felt a sharp pain across his neck and then…nothing. His eyes rolled back as his mouth lolled open, head slowly tilting to the side. With a gentle wet sound followed by a thud, his noggin rolled off his shoulder and bounced across the floor, rolling to a bloody stop.

"Shreveport, Louisiana," it finally said. Their voice was deep and gravely, holding a sick joy in its tone. "Finally." He smiled—a look that did not suit him—and his lip slipped over his sharp fangs, baring them for no one to see. A moment later, he was gone.

* * *

**Bump in the Night**

Bon Temps was the perfect place to hide despite the southern heat and strange happenings with monsters and such. The people probably were not the type to keep up with media to the point the Petty siblings would have to worry. The summer home was away from town and surrounded by trees to provide privacy. It was big, but small enough as to not stand out. Maintenance was an issue as it had been vacant for years, last visited by their parents about six years previous. Now, two strangers were moving in for the season.

The small car pulled into the gravel driveway and stopped, followed closely by the moving van. Once the dust cleared, two men exited the front seats of the car and opened the back for the new tenants as the moving crew opened up the house to start unpacking. A man exited first. He was charming, with black hair styled into a curly faux hawk. His wide, brown eyes smiled as he looked around, looking over the windows overhead. He whipped his head around and grinned across the hood of the car as his sister got out, dragging a raggedy messenger bag with her. She lacked any enthusiasm as she looked over at him, her red lips stuck in a frown. Her hair was cut into a bob, the back shaven and the bangs straight across.

"Now remember, Isa," he said, giving the roof a tap before slamming the door shut, "Things only get better from here. Once everything cools off, we're outta here and off to somewhere better." Isadora—Isa—Petty snorted and shook her head.

"We'll never get outta here if we go with _your _plan." Peter's smile turned into a small smirk.

The two bodyguards, both clad in neat suits and dark sunglasses, opened the trunk to retrieve the suitcases, lips shut in tight lines as though they were robots. Isa practically leapt forward, leaving her door open, and snatched a box from one of them, much to his annoyance. It only frustrated him more when the box shivered with silverware, but she insisted on carrying it herself. Peter snorted out a laugh, but then quickly covered his mouth before offering to help them. Box under her arm and her bag dragging on the ground, Isadora wandered off the gravel and into the tall grass, the blades brushing her bare legs. The sky overhead was clear blue and bright behind the bushy branches of untended trees, making it the perfect day to sit against a trunk and write. She sunk down and set the box beside her before digging through her bag for a ratty notebook. A loose page slipped out, but she ignored it. Knees curled and the book on her thighs, she pulled a pen from her bag's side pocket and opened up to a fresh page. The freed paper fluttered in the grass for a moment before a breeze sent it flying into the bushes.

Peter, his offer of help turned down outright, gave up and slumped against the side of the car, arms crossed as he muttered to himself and waited for them to finish. He could not even carry his own suitcase in, apparently because they needed to make sure the house was "safe." From possums or something, he figured. Sun bearing down on him, he felt sweat gathering on his brow, so he wiped his face with the front of his t-shirt. When he lowered the cloth again, glancing over the yard, he shot straight up and squinted.

Someone looking to be younger than them barreled out of the bushes lining the property, limbs flailing as they tripped on stuff in the grass. The kid let out a yelp as he finally flew headfirst towards a tree. Peter winced, able to hear the harsh _smack_ from where he stood. Isadora, off to the side but not too far from the incident, slowly removed her attention from her notebook and looked over, expression flat and unenthused. The kid fell backwards and slapped both hands over his forehead, letting out a pained sound like a kicked dog. Quickly, Peter jogged over.

"Dude! Are you okay? Isa, help him up would ya!" She pursed her lips but did not budge otherwise, her eyes glued to the young man. Peter crouched down beside him and grabbed at their wrist to try to inspect the damage. "Here, let me see."

They hissed and removed their hands slowly as blood trickled down between his eyes and around his nose. Peter flinched again but realized the wound was barely anything and did not mean they needed to call 911. "S-sorry about…hitting your tree?" Peter laughed and patted him on the back.

"Sorry my tree hit your face. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think I am…" He, with some help from Peter, got to his feet. Brushing his hands off on his pants, some blood smearing into the fabric, he looked over at Isadora, eyes locking with hers. The pen she had been using rested against her lips. Peter noticed and intercepted as soon as he noticed the stupid look in the stranger's eyes.

"My name's Peter and that's my sister Isadora," he explained, "we're living here for the summer." The boy tore his attention from Isa and turned to Peter again, still smiling. His tanned face contained soft features and his hair was light brown, cut short and boyish. He couldn't have been much older than 16.

"I'm Jeffery, a local. Did you buy this old place, or…?" Peter crossed his arms, pausing to think of a non-suspicious explanation.

"We're renting from the owners. They haven't been here in a long time, so they happily offered. In fact, we did not even have to pay much. Pretty lucky, huh?" Jeffery was awestruck.

"Wow, really? It's a pretty nice house." He peeked around Peter at the two official-looking men carrying boxes with a puzzled expression. "So…did they offer to move your stuff too?" Peter faltered and briefly glanced at his sister.

"They said it was just nice to have the house be used." Jeffery seemed to buy it. Now that their conversation was over, Jeffrey's attention returned to Isadora and the pen that rested seductively against her lips. He grinned stupidly, an affect that she seemed to have on many, and walked over to her despite the displeased look on Peter's face.

"Hey, Isadora, right?" She nodded once, watching him silently with her dark eyes. Behind the flat yet attractive look of her eyes, color seemed to swirl in her iris, giving them a subtle yet striking spiral look. It made her seem supernatural and out of reach, not that it stopped Jeffrey from attempting to advance on her. Unfortunately, he used a frontal approach, leaving him open to any blows she was fully prepared to deal. He knelt down next to her, still smiling, and held out his hand, which she stared at with newfound interest.

"I'm Jeffrey. If you ever need someone to show you around or a good time, you can call me, okay?" The corners of her lips curled up, terribly resembling the Grinch, and she looked him in the eye again, his hand no longer interesting. It must have surprised him, seeing her face so close, because he looked taken aback as he second-guessed his idea to flirt with her. She moved the pen so the lid was in her teeth and popped it open. Grabbing his wrist in her other warm hand, she pulled his arm to her and wrote a phone number. Jeffrey shivered a little, the pen feeling cool while she felt hot; he smiled again. Finished, she loosened her grip on his wrist. He pulled his arm back slowly, shivering again as her soft fingers brushed over his skin and as his eyes stared at her lips. She put the pen back into the lid and took it from her mouth, smirking at him coolly.

"If you ever need someone to show you a good time, you can call me, okay?" she practically purred. Peter shifted uncomfortably as the young one melted in his sister's attention; he cleared his throat to get Jeffrey to look at _him_ instead.

"We're pretty beat from the trip, so you should head home," he said, attempting to mask the irritation he felt. The boy blushed and nodded.

"Sorry! You're right; moving is a lot of work after all. I should get back to my friends anyway. I was running from one of them but I guess she didn't follow as closely as I thought…" Scratching the back of his head, Jeffery said his goodbyes and left the property, both siblings watching him. Isadora sighed and shoved her stuff back into her bag as Peter rounded on her and made a gasping grumble of frustration, throwing his arms up as he could not articulate much better.

"Use your words," she said with a soft chuckle.

"Remember what I said about "laying low?" Hitting on some kid from town isn't what I had in mind."

"Oh come on, he was cute."

"And probably not legal."

"Please, it's the So—"

"Don't you even start!" He rubbed his hands down his face and shook his head. Isa used the tree trunk to get to her feet and slipped the bag's strap over her shoulder. After bending over and picking up the box of silverware, she looked up at her brother and cocked her head to the side. He puffed his cheeks and made a choking motion with his hands, showing her _just _how mad he was. When she thought he'd turn blue, she held the box out to him and gave him a crooked smile.

"Mom's crappy silverware," she said simply. He exhaled noisily and dropped his hands, giving the box a confused look.

"If they're mom's, why do you have them?" Isa shoved the box into his chest, forcing him to take them, and turned on her heel to head towards the house. "Hey! What's the deal?"

"I just thought they might come in handy," she said, waving her hand as if she couldn't be bothered to give a better answer. His brow furrowed as he glowered at the back of her head, but in the end, he gave in and shuffled back to the house as well.

* * *

Their first night in their summer home was the complete opposite of what Isadora was used to. In the city, her nights, and often her days, were full of cold air, soaked ground, and sweaty bodies meshed together in close quarters, moving to whatever repetitive noise that played at the time; the good old days of drug addicts, ravers, and prostitutes. Not that she hadn't gotten to adjust to silent nights already. Nonetheless, since she was freed, the calm made her toss in bed to the point she gave up and got up. Behind her, as she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the hardwood floor, Peter snored softly, his arms wrapped around his pillow and a drool puddle under his cheek.

Their bedroom was the attic, basically, complete with a slanted ceiling. Their bed was two mattresses stacked on the floor and shoved into a corner, covered in black sheets and a comforter with silk lining on the bottom. There was a window right above their heads, then one on the adjacent wall, closer to the old wardrobe that once belonged to a great, great grandmother or something. The floor was old but clean, with a fluffy, circle rug in the center. Other than a lamp beside their bed, the rest of the room was bare: no mirrors, no photos, nothing but their suitcases of clothes and the sparse furniture. She hated that room.

The rest of the house seemed more welcoming. The hallway split around the thin staircase, closed in with walls. The second floor had two guest rooms, the master bedroom, and the master bathroom. The entire floor was the same as the "attic", but the bathroom was newly tiled and shined up. The shower was small, but there was a large bath to make up for it. There was a closet between the tub and toilet, full of towels and other toiletries. The guestrooms were wide open and vacant, as well as the master bedroom. One might wonder why the doors were even open because the dark made it uncomfortable to walk on that floor.

At the bottom of the tight stairway was the entranceway. A coat closet separated the stairs from the door's view. Without a wall to block it off, the living room was large and connected to the entranceway, furnished with a new, plush couch, a love seat, a recliner, and the expensive looking TV, plus assorted technology they plugged into it. The coffee table was old, smooth wood with a glass center and covered with magazines and mugs they had left from drinking coffee as Thing 1 and Thing 2 moved their stuff in.

Around the corner was the kitchen, as new as the bathroom upstairs. Everything but the counters was replaced and shiny. The refrigerator was restocked with soda, juice, some lunchmeat, extra bread, milk, eggs, and a few other things like coffee creamers. They still needed snack foods, dinners, and ice cream; how could they forget ice cream? The floor was newly tiled and mopped with a small carpet in front of the sink. In drawers near the stove was silverware, the same that Isadora had insisted on carrying. They were pure silver, antiques not meant for use yet hidden away from view. The real eating utensils were in a bucket, needing a wash to be usable while neither sibling wanted to touch them. They would no doubt sit there for a few days while they got by on frozen finger foods.

She hated the rest of the house too.

Isadora finally stood up, not able to stand the snoring behind her, and left the bedroom. Dressed in a large t-shirt and short shorts, no socks or shoes, she wandered down the creaky stairs, making sure to be careful as to not wake Peter. He would flip out on her if he knew she was up and about on her own in the middle of the night. To make things worse, she went to the front door and opened it. She gently pressed her warm hand to the cool metal of the screen door and slipped outside into the warm night. The heat had settled after the sun went down, making it more comfortable for anyone not used to it. Now it was less "fire" and more "warm blanket".

She shut the door and left the porch, humming some 80s tune she couldn't remember the words to. The woods around their temporary home were void of life, not even a cricket playing a tune in the brush. There might have been a raccoon, but they made no sounds to alert her. When on the road, again there was not a soul in sight. Isadora could walk with her eyes closed without getting weird; she could dance her way into town without a care.

She stopped humming when her foot touched cement. Opening her eyes, she looked around the barren town of Bon Temps, lights flickering here and there, glowing so she could see. All the stores were closed and homes were dark while people slept. There were no tomcats stalking their territory, no dogs barking in backyards at the slightest sound or movement. And there were still no people to watch her. It was the opposite of what she was used to, but it soothed her like a lullaby. The moon overhead disappeared for a moment as a cloud passed over, and Isadora looked up at it, almost startled as the light played hide-and-seek. When the cloud moved on, she relaxed again, forgetting to resume the humming she had accidentally stopped.

A man appeared when she looked forward again, but when she blinked, he was gone. It happened so suddenly, she could not get a clear picture of him and did not have enough time to be surprised. She stared blankly ahead, head cocked slightly.

"Must have been a ghost," she said coolly, not bothered by her own observation. There were two things she got from the brief mirage; he was tall and he was pale. The dead had always been pale, but he was not gruesome, so he must have been fresh. One foot in front of the other, she continued on, gliding along the dirty sidewalk while a new tune came to mind. A few moments later, she shook her head and stopped walking. A ghost…It could not have been a ghost. Even the new ones were ugly, scarred by whatever took their lives to begin with. They did not change in appearance as time sped by, only stayed the same while their personalities twisted and their anger took hold. After all, who _wanted_ to be dead?

The air was still hot, dancing against her skin to soothe her nerves. While silence fell over everything, she stood completely still, ears and flesh prickled while the once warm air went cold. For a moment, she believed that it really had been a ghost and that it was curious about her presence at such an hour.

"When the dead enter a room, the temperature drops," she muttered to herself, "But this is different isn't it?"

For a moment, the sound was quiet; just a low rumble in the back of her head like a band of horses in the distance. Steadily growing louder, the horses came nearer, hooves crashing in her brain and making her temples pound painfully. Soon they were roaring, moving around her frantically. It was not hooves however, but screams of men and woman. Isadora tensed and put her hands on her cheeks, fingers tugging her earlobes down. Instead of covering her ears— it was futile to block the cries—she listened for physical sounds, such as footsteps. There were none.

"It's rather late for you to be outside," said a cool voice. She spun around for a broad chest to greet her and then looked almost straight up at a face looking down at her. Staring blankly, perhaps not that shocked about their presence, she took note of his appearance. The man was pale, tall, and blond, just as the disappearing figure from moments before.

"Hypocrite," she said flatly, almost a reflexive response. He continued to watch her, so she did the same back, but he was trying to read her rather than whatever her intention was—which she had none. After another second or two, he chuckled. The sound was not humorous or lighthearted, rather as cold as the temperature he radiated. His blue-green eyes opened again and met her swirling browns, brow raised slightly as he kept a crooked smile.

"It's not hypocritical for me," he said, "Isn't it obvious?"

Anguished wails from a writhing crowd of men and woman whose lives had been ripped from them, equivalent to the leftover odor of blood but instead recordings stuck to the flesh, were a signature she knew of only two groups. Murderers were one of them and she scoffed at the evils of people, finding their existence uninteresting. But it was the other half that made her feel small in front of this stranger. His cold skin she could feel even without touching him; the darkness around his eyes and pale skin; there was only one option.

"Of course it's obvious," she said vaguely. He thought her an idiot only briefly, reading easily the expression in her eyes. She knew what he was and refused to say it.

"You really should go home. You never know what's walking around at night."

"Only creepers and murderers," she said right away, crossing her arms and cocking her head slightly.

"And which do you think I am?" He smiled again.

Her reply was instant, "Both."

Once again, he thought she might be slow, the snarky comments only to cover how much of a tool she really was. Of course, he would be wrong to think that. Isadora was neither slow nor a moron. In fact, she was quite the opposite. Her only fault was the enjoyment of frustrating and confusing others, something that had become a pastime since she started school. This was not a person she should poke and prod, but everything was reflexive and permanently etched into her being.

"If I'm both a creeper and a murderer, what does that make you for not running away?" He thought he was so clever…

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Of course it's obvious." His response made her smile, which rarely happened from other people flapping their jaws. If it were not for the horrible headache he created for her, perhaps they could be friends. It would be strange to befriend something like him just after coming for the summer, like fate almost. But it was not love at first sight; it was a new game she had three months to finish.

"It's time to go home, human," he said, "Or I might get hungry." His smile became even more crooked and a fang peeked out from his lips, catching a small glint of moonlight. First, he was clever, and then he was scary. Isadora scoffed, although not directly at him.

"You can't scare a lunatic at night," she said flatly, "You might as well just go on your way and leave me alone. Besides, I taste like junk food."

He looked amused, mostly at the fact she called herself a lunatic. After all, the crazy do not know they are crazy and this was the second time she alluded to her instability. Something was very wrong about her, like everything was off kilter in her head, but that oddness was curious. He moved closer to her slowly, almost as if approaching a deer so it would not run away. She continued to stare at him without a readable expression, even when he stood inches from her and loomed over her. She was short enough, but felt dwarfed compared to the giant before her.

"What's your name?" he asked. Isa started directly into his eyes and crossed her arms.

"Sheila, Queen of Mars."

"I have never seen you before, Your _Majesty_." If he was in a worse mood, he might have snapped her neck for such an answer. But for the time being, she was far too fascinating to kill.

"I just flew in on my magic carpet," she said, her expression changing as she spoke. She sounded convincing, aside from the absurdity, and acted like it was no big deal. "But I'm only here for three months because I can't leave Mars unattended to for too long."

"You are ridiculous," he chimed, his smile still crooked. As he read her face, he began to realize how much weirder her appearance was than her words. There was something enchanting about her eyes. They were flat but big as if innocence was turned to cynicism over time, and the irises appeared to swirl around her pupils, moving like a fog. They were brown, but his inhuman eyes could see the dark grays mixed in. "What is your real name?" He removed his focus from her eyes and found he had touched her cheek. Her skin was soft and smooth, and hot against his icy fingers. With her blank expression and her unnatural eyes, he had no way of telling whether his trick had worked.

To Glamour someone was a form of hypnotism, a talent that all of his kind possessed. With it, they could change, wipe, and rearrange memories, make humans do their bidding, and everything else under the moon. All it took was a concentrated stare into their eyes, reaching inside, and taking their consciousness under control. For this strange girl, it was his only chance to get any truth out of her.

"What is your real name?" he asked again, speaking slower as he stared into her eyes again. She took a second to respond, but it was not the answer he expected.

"Could you go away? You're starting to annoy me." He blinked, confused. There was only one other person he could not Glamour…He removed his hand from her cheek and moved away a little, feeling startled but not showing it. "Do all of your kind impose on people's personal space, or do you just get a kick out of it?"

"What are you?" he asked. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her headache was starting to pound harder and she felt like her head was going to explode. With him having gotten so close, going as far as to touch her face, her stomach joined in and decided to twist up. The place where he had touched her was so cold it burned, not to mention it smelled like old blood. The roaring infernal of cries refused to lighten up, meaning it was time for her to get away from him; the game could continue another time.

"I'm crazy, remember?" With the first round over, she turned her back on him and began to walk away. Unfortunately, he was not done and decided to grab her arms. With his inhuman strength, he turned her around and picked her up like a child. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" For a second, he saw her canines look as sharp as her glare.

"All I want is your name," he said coolly, but she could tell he would do something rash if she did not comply. With her head pounding, her patience tested, and her stomach on the verge of expelling lunch, she figured a name would not hurt.

"Isadora," she said simply, brow still furrowed with annoyance, like a hissy cat less than amused about being manhandled. To avoid her claws, he set her down again while repeating her name.

"Isadora…" he mumbled.

"Yes, that's my name. Can I leave now?" She had no interest in knowing his name, but he gave it regardless.

"My name is Eric," he said simply, "I'll be seeing you again."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Leaving her with just his damn crooked smile, he disappeared thanks to super speed. The soft breeze of his movement made her hair tickle her forehead, so she mussed her hair with both hands to scratch her head. From head to toe, she must have looked like an insane homeless person. Inside, she just felt insane.

"I hate Vampires," she said aloud, speaking to the night air, "I really hate Vampires."

* * *

It seemed even a night as bad as his could turn around; depending on one's definition of it. Eric Northman had started his "day" by learning a serial Vampire killer had come to his town and killed a woman. The scene was gruesome, with blood and guts smeared all over the walls, her corpse torn from limb to limb. While he was not concerned about a single death, the killer being around was troublesome. As sheriff of Shreveport, he was inclined to investigate.

Due to his duty, he was forced into visiting his favorite waitress. The blonde was not all thrilled to have him in her home, just like always, but she was even less thrilled about being enlisted to help in their Vampire affairs…_again_. Not that he blamed her. Bad things always happened when they were involved. In fact, he had to face a tragedy himself the last time.

It was when he explained what she had to do that she agreed to help. She was just to read the mind of a witness so they did not have to spill human blood to get the truth. The killer had left the woman's boyfriend, or snack. Eric, of course, was not against torture, but the higher ups had different principles than him, meaning he had to swallow his pride again.

* * *

**Look at that! I'm redoing Barbed Wire! :D And this time, I really do intend on finishing it. Hopefully, you haven't seen the old one so your opinion on it won't be tainted! I'd also like to note, characters may say or do things that don't represent my own feelings so... Basically, Isa has growing up to do and I hope you'll stick around for the character development! Thanks for reading! Leave a review or PM me if you'd like; I always appreciate feedback.**

**- Sabu (May 17, 2013)**


	2. Something's Wrong

**Something's Wrong**

"Another victim was found in Shreveport, Louisiana last night. It is confirmed that the woman was indeed a Vampire. Just like the other 15 victims, she was staked in a motel room, which she shared with a human man. The man, Brice Channing, disappeared last night before police arrived. If you see anyone matching this description, contact officials right away; he is wanted for questioning. "

"Can you believe it?" Peter leaned back on the couch, his arms on the back and resting behind her head. Isadora hugged her knees and leaned on him, her eyes drifting closed before snapping open again. The widescreen television had working cable, but there was nothing on but the news. She cared very little about it, being much too tired after her nighttime adventure. "That guy killing off Vampires is _here_ too."

"Maybe he's stalking you. Did you get turned while I was gone?" He looked down at her with a small smile, but she was staring at the screen, half awake at noon.

"It's just a coincidence," he said quietly, "He'll probably be in the next state tomorrow." The killer had started on one side of the country, worked their way to where Isadora and Peter were staying, and had been in the same state ever since. The only reason he was not worried was because the path too linear to be anything other than a coincidence.

"At least if he really is after us, we've got the silverware." Peter looked down at her, puzzled.

"Is that why you insisted on having it?"

"Nah. But mom was dead-set on getting rid of me, so might as well get something out of the deal." She rubbed her nose and continued to stare at the news broadcast, so Peter furrowed his brow and moved away from her. For her to say the M-word as a dead giveaway that she was exhausted.

"Why are you so tired?"

"I couldn't sleep last night, so I went for a walk. Guess I was out to la—"

"You went out _alone _last night?! What the hell did I tell you?!" He scooted away and once again felt like strangling her. "You could have gotten hurt! Do you have any idea what I would do if that happened?" She tilted her head back and looked at him, barely turning to the side. "Don't look at me like that, Isadora."

"Look, I get it; you're looking out for "lil sis," but you need to cool it. Besides, I wasn't alone the whole time."

"It only takes a minute for whatever to hurt you! …Hey, wait, what do you mean _not alone_?!" Not in the mood for reliving the previous encounter, and regretful of sending Peter on a tirade, Isa pushed herself off the couch and sauntered away. Peter went to follow, paused, and then just slumped back, grunting with annoyance. He watched as she threw open the coat closet and disappeared inside. Leaning forward again, he squinted and called her name. "Isa! I'm sorry for being so in your face, but I'm responsible for you now. Until you're considered legally independent, I'm your damn keeper. If we're going to be stuck together, things will go a lot smoother if you just _listen _to me." She reemerged, clad in a thin, gray sweater and a light jacket draped over her arm. He cocked an eyebrow at her strange choice of attire for unbearable heat.

"Come on, Keeper," she said coolly, "If you have to shadow me, let's go." He caught the jacket but showed no indication of getting up. The corner of her mouth twitched into a frown and she kicked his feet until he was sufficiently pestered. "Get up. Let's go!"

"Go where?" Why the hell do I need a coat? You realize what the temperature is outside, right?"

"I plan on keeping you out and it gets a tad chilly at night." Holding the jacket with crossed arms, he stood up and looked down at her meaningfully. She stared back at him, blinked, and then sighed. Picking at her ear, she turned away. "I'm sorry. Happy?"

"Promise you won't go out without me."

Flicking away a bit of earwax, she pouted at him again, "Fine. I promise I won't do it again."

"If you can't take this seriously, I can't take care of you. If I can't do _that_, then I have to take you _back_." Done chiding and knowing she was over his lecturing, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, towards the door. "Lead the way."

* * *

The bar was bustling with the lunch crowd, echoing with laughter and clattering dishes while servers dashed between tables. Isadora followed close behind Peter, her face scrunching up the more she saw of the stupid town. At this point, they had been wandering around long enough and enduring enough heat that she regretted leaving the house and Peter smiled at her self-inflicted punishment for earlier. One of the nice women who worked in the establishment approached with a friendly smile and a slight bounce in her step. Isa peered around Peter at the blonde, further unimpressed with everything.

"Welcome to Merlotte's," she said, grabbing two menus from the podium, "Haven't seen you around before; did you just move here?" While talking, she led them to an empty booth in the back. Whether this person was legitimately curious or just being friendly, Isa was not sure, but she did not like the forced smiles of the customer service industry and had no interest in talking to this person. So instead, Peter did all the talking.

"We're just visiting for the summer," he explained. They slipped into the booth as the waitress set down the menus. She left for a moment after excusing herself but then came back with two clean glasses and a pitcher of ice water.

"Are you the folks staying at that old house outside of town?" she asked, pouring the water for them. Isadora, elbow on the table and her head resting in her palm, flipped through the menu with a bored expression. Peter smiled, but his eyes showed confusion and for a second, fear. "Oh, news travels fast around here." He relaxed a little, realizing it made too much sense, especially after the run in with Jeremy.

"Yeah, that's us," he said, his tone sighing with relief. The waitress introduced herself and took their orders for drinks before giving them a few minutes to decide on what to eat. After she disappeared, leaving them to themselves, Peter looked across at his sister and smiled. "Well, she was nice."

Isa did not look up from the menu but did stop chewing on her pinky, "She sounded like an idiot." Peter exhaled harshly and pinched the bridge of his nose at her blatant disdain. "Not to mention she looked at me funny."

"Oh, come on. You were too busy being a butt, why would you think she even _bothered _looking at you?" Isa pushed the menu away and turned her head to stare out the window. He sighed and looked for something to eat, no longer wanting to attempt conversation.

Meanwhile, the pretty blonde waitress slipped into the back and took a deep breath. To say Sookie Stackhouse was having a bad day would be an understatement. She was no stranger to sleep loss, but it did not make it any easier that her boss needed her to come in to pick up the slack. On top of that, one of the strangers in town had the strangest voices in her head. In her tired state, Sookie accidently used her mind reading ability, only to find incoherent mumbling and humming sounds. That was odd on its own, but as she stood there thinking about it with her brow furrowed, the more it weighed on her.

"Sookie," said another woman, hastily wiping her hands on her apron after setting down a tray, "Are you just going to stand there all day?" She went on to complain about how busy it was and how rowdy the tables were getting, but stopped when Sookie whipped her head towards the front door, eyes widening like a deer in headlights. "What's wrong, honey?"

Hesitantly, she peeled her gaze away from the outside and looked at her friend and coworker, forcing a smile that said she was fine. "I didn't sleep well last night. Sorry, Arlene." The redhead returned her smile halfheartedly, worrying about her but too busy to push the subject. They parted ways and Sookie returned to the Petty siblings, eyes still flickering over at the doors. Something was wrong… When she returned, the unfriendly woman was staring at her with eyes that startled her. Vampires and Maenads sure, but this something was very different, and it was almost more disturbing than what Eric Northman had said to her the night before. Just what she needed, _more _trouble. _Vampire killing vampires and leaving cryptic messages, _she thought setting her pen to the pad of paper she pulled from her apron, _what did I do to deserve all this? _As if finding out her boyfriend was a piece of shit and all dead folk were lying, conniving, bastards was the first straw; Eric returning to her doorstep after she told him to go to Hell was the second; and the third was this strange woman with the vortex eyes. She smiled through the frown that threatened to take over her face, the frown that made her eyes sting with tears, and took down their orders, forcing her voice to become sing-song rather than broken. All the while, she could feel _something _there with them. Whatever it was, it was outside and had no intention of letting up.

After taking their order, a burger for the man and pie for the woman, she went to the kitchen, attempting to keep her stress under wraps by taking careful strides. Once the paper was pinned up for the cook to see, she shoved her pad and pen back into her pocket and rushed to the back, heading straight for the bathroom to wash her face.

"Isa," Peter said, snapping his fingers in front of his sister's face to break her trance. Isadora grabbed his wrist, a quick movement that made him jump a little, and blinked a couple times. "What's your deal now? I told you, she didn't give you a weird look."

"She's not an idiot," her mouth tilted and her eyes narrowed, "she can feel it too."

"Feel what?"

Isadora did not say anything else about it.

* * *

That night, after the townsfolk emptied out of the bar, Sookie let out a sigh of relief. The feeling of something lurking outside was gone, giving her room to breathe. As she dug out her car keys, she inhaled the night air, filling her chest as much as she could before letting it out again. She sat in the driver's seat and started the ignition, gripping the wheel loosely as she settled in. The day was long, and that night would be much longer.

_He had the gall to come to _my _house, after everything that has happened. He must be desperate to even remotely think that was a good idea. Why should I help him? I'm sick of Vampires! I'm sick of everything! _She shut her eyes tightly and her brow knitted together as she leaned over and pressed her forehead to the top of the steering wheel. She had no inclination towards helping him, or anyone for that matter, but a nagging feeling remained. Part of her needed to know what the deal with the presence and the stranger, the two seemingly linked. _It was like something was focusing all of its energy on me._ The headache, one that started as a dull ache but eventually grew into the start of a migraine, had gone away with the presence, but it was not the pain that bothered her. It was the incoherent sounds, the very same from when she read the woman's thoughts. _Whatever it was, it was interfering with her thoughts; keeping me out. _She felt a shiver down her spine and reopened her eyes, looking out the windows and in the rearview mirror to make sure she was alone. After she relaxed again, she pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards the one place she never wanted to see again.

* * *

**Fangtasia**, the local Vampire and Fangbanger hangout in Shreveport, was empty that night, providing zero comfort for her as she walked up to the door. The lights flickered overhead, she clammed up, and then the door opened to reveal a chronically shaken woman with revealing clothes and a worn out face. She ushered Sookie in nervously and shut the door behind them before leading her, even when she already knew her way around, inside. They walked into the lit up, empty bar, Sookie's arms crossed and her face stony; nothing was going to get to her and she had no intention of staying long.

Eric Northman stood at the center of the room, a beautiful Vampire beside him, blonde and dangerous looking as her made-up face glared at everything and nothing. The frown subtracted from very little however. Behind them, sitting on a rickety stool and covered in dried blood, was a man, his head hanging and his expression dejected. Eric stood straighter, lifting his head, and smiled at Sookie.

"I'm glad you agreed," he said, "You're making this much easier for me."

"I didn't come for you," Sookie said matter-of-factly, "I came for him." She motioned towards the ghost of a man before approaching. The poor guy had been locked up downstairs since the incident at the motel not far from there. He was unwashed and distraught, not to mention in shock from everything. She smiled at him, attempting to comfort him, but he barely saw her, instead choosing to tilt his head away from her.

"Brice?" she asked, already knowing his name. He did not acknowledge her. "My name is Sookie Stackhouse. Just relax, okay?"

"He's obviously not all there," Pam, Eric's Vampire progeny, said. She rolled her eyes the more Sookie tried to get through to the poor human, but eventually, she was proved wrong. Brice finally turned towards the young woman, his tired eyes sunken and black, and opened his mouth to croak out some words.

"H-he's coming for it," he said quietly, struggled to speak, "When he has it…no one will be safe."

"Just read his mind," Eric urged, "He's already said that a million times. What I need is the name—or face—of the Vampire responsible for all this." Sookie grimaced and put her hand up as if to block him out. He was going to retort but then Brice shifted on his stool and choked out a sob.

"Oh God, I don't want to die. I don't want to die!" Before he could eject himself from the chair and run, she reached out and touched his temples with both hands, freezing him in his spot as she read his mind.

The images were scrambled due to his fear, becoming nothing but quick flashes of a Quentin Tarantino film. She heard the mad shouting of the woman who was murdered, threatening a shadow that continued to advance on her. Then there were flashes of gore smeared on furniture and the carpet. She heard the head thud on the floor and the man's rugged pants as he crawled towards the back of the closet he hid in. The shadow saw him, saw her, but it moved on without a second glance. Finally, there were unfocused images of a bloody message written on the red-stained walls. They read, **"I've come for it and it will be mine." **When she released the man and stopped the visions, she realized there was nothing useful there. The shadow's face was nothing but black and the words were reduced to a garbled mess. Now, Eric was at her side, staring at her intently. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

"He didn't see or hear enough," she explained quietly. Brice was once again slumped on his stool, staring at the floor with wide but dull eyes, all of the light gone. For a moment, Sookie thought he was dead, but then saw his chest slowly moving. "Sorry."

Eric shut his eyes with irritation and turned, walking away as he thought. Pam complained that she was right about it being a waste of time, but Sookie drowned it out. She just wanted to go home and sleep, to forget about all of it.

"Eric," she said sternly, "this man needs to go to the police. He's missing and he needs help." He put his hand up, mimicking her condescension. "You promised." Dropping his hand, he looked at her with veiled irritation, the expression softened for her sake. "Glamour him and I'll take him right now." The tall Viking Vampire did as she said, leaving the man in a daze as he forgot everything about them and the interrogation. As far as he was concerned, he had panicked and hid out in the wilderness for the last couple of nights.

When that was done, Sookie hooked Brice's arm around her neck and lifted him up, grunting with difficulty as he acted like a wet sack of rocks. With the tiny bit of good in his heart, Eric decided to help her take him out to her car, earning another eye roll from Pam. She had no patience for any of it.

Outside, they eased Brice into the back seat so he could lie down, shutting the door as he eased onto his side. The man was silent as he stared blankly, no doubt going over things in his scrambled brain. Sookie turned on her heel and went to get in so she could leave it all in her dust. However, Eric grabbed her arm and stopped her short, much to her dismay. She spun on him and yanked her arm away, taking advantage of his loose grip. Suddenly, she was furious and wished to the Lord that the sun would come up right then.

"Don't touch me!" she practically screamed, "I don't want you near me _or _touching me! This is the last time we talk to each other!" For a moment, he looked taken aback, retracting his hand as though she might bite, but then he returned to being collected yet slightly agitated.

"Goodnight, Sookie," he said simply. Honestly, he was too tired to rile her up more. There was too much going on in his jurisdiction to add to his own problems. But he needed to be clear that he meant her no harm; unlike that _Bill_. She clenched her fists and got in the car without another word, feeling the tears burning in her eyes, needing all of her strength to not let them roll down her cheeks. She pulled onto the street and sped off towards the closest police station, gripping the wheel tightly as she blinked profusely. As she disappeared into the night, Eric remained in front of his bar and stared into the darkness.

His composure betrayed the nagging worries in the back of his head. Something was wrong, and he had a gut feeling that some self-hating Vampire murderer was only the tip of the iceberg. And beyond that, there was still the subject of the lunatic he had met the night before. He smirked half-heartedly before going back inside to contemplate.

* * *

Peter lied on his stomach, the blankets bunched up under his gut and uncomfortable, but he remained there. With his elbows on his pillow, he typed into the laptop in front of him. The front of it was on his pillow as well while the back rested on the windowsill of the tall windows. The glow of his screen was the only light in the attic/bedroom, making it near impossible for Isadora to get dressed correctly. When she finally got her shirt on and crawled into bed, he glanced over at her and stifled a laugh. She slipped her legs under the covers and pulled them up to her waist before swiveling to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" He rolled onto his side and reached over, flicking the tag sticking out in front of her. She looked down so he took the chance and flicked her nose, earning a smack as she went to rub it.

"You put your shirt on inside out _and _backwards," he pointed out as he decided to laugh at her openly. She glowered at him but then scooted her butt down and flopped backwards onto her pillow.

"I wouldn't have if you remembered to get light bulbs for the damn lamp." He rolled his eyes and silently mocked her, but remained smiling. Since she had settled into bed, he decided to set his laptop aside and wiggle into the covers as well, flexing his toes as he eased into a comfortable distance away from her. He moved his laptop down and set it between them so he could punch his pillow a couple times. The thing was not nearly as fluffy as he thought. "No snoring tonight."

He scoffed, "You keep saying I snore, but I swear I don't!" The corner of her mouth twitched into a half smile, but she quickly stopped _that _and rolled over so her back was to him. "Goodnight, Isa." After a few moments of silence, he heard her breathing soften and knew she was just about asleep. Smiling to himself, he shut his computer and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, the two of them were asleep, Peter snoring softly—his volume low until he was in a deeper slumber—and Isa as silent as death. An hour passed and the two had not only scooted closer together but also rolled over to face each other. Eventually, Isa was half on top of his laptop and leaning in towards him, twitching every once in a while as dreams took hold.

Not long before sunrise, Peter awoke with a start. His breathing hitched and his eyes shot open, meeting nothing but suffocating darkness. He was not sweating and he had not had a nightmare, leaving him to wonder in his trance why he had woken up. His brain restarted and he blinked a few times, groaning at the disturbance in his peace. Squinting and turning his head, he looked over at Isa, hoping to somehow see her without any light. He reached over and patted for her, only to find an empty spot. Cursing mentally, he sat up and went to slip off the bed as to go track her down, but stopped when he saw the faint outline of her body on the edge of the bed.

She was sitting up, feet on the cold hardwood floor and her head drooped. Peter cleared his throat pointedly, hoping she would turn around and say something. Instead, she did not respond at all. Carefully, he extended his hand and touched the shoulder, but she did not respond to that either. In the pit of his stomach, he felt nauseated and for a moment, he wanted to lie back down and forget it. But he knew his sister and knew better than to ignore her.

"Isa? Are you okay?" He shook her gently a few times, but then tried to turn her around, using more force as if it might help. When she did not speak or move, he tossed off the blankets and crawled down to get off at the foot of the bed. Keeping his eyes on her through the dark and walking around the bed, he hunched over slightly and approached. Finally, the moon slipping in through the window gave him enough light to see her face. Her eyes remained on the floor, barely open. A cold chill ran down his spine and he hesitated to move any closer. When it passed, he sat beside her and grabbed her hand, giving it a little squeeze. Finally, she seemed to notice him.

"Peter?" she asked, her body creaking back into action.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, worry creases appearing in his face. She coughed a little and held his hand a little tighter.

She muttered, "I woke up a little bit ago and I must have spaced out."

He slowly released her hand and instead rubbed her back, attempting to lull her back to sleep. She leaned towards him without thinking and rested against him, not quite ready to lie down again. It was not something she could just tell him after all; there was no point in worrying him anymore. Besides, the little **dead** boy sitting on the floor in front of her did not want her to tell anyone his secret anyway.

* * *

**New chapter (finally.) I recommend moving over to AO3 by the way, since this site hates mature content. There will most likely be...well it's True Blood so you know what I'm saying, amarite? ********Thanks for reading! Leave a review or PM me if you'd like; I always appreciate feedback.**

**Also, thank you Alan for letting me know I did in fact NOT write Sookie horribly because I was legit worried about that shit. That's what happens when you try to make a character you hate tolerable at 4 AM.**

**- Sabu (May 26, 2013)**


End file.
